JayGee Quotable C

Lovers and millionaires take chances!

Chicken. . .

Today at work, I ate chicken like I know where I come from. No fork, no knife, just finger tips, teeth and lips.

Nothing was spared. Not the little bone attached to the leg, not the soft stuff under the breast, not even the wing tip on the chicken wing. Well the hip was spared; I can never bring myself to eat one half of a chicken’s booty.

Each rib was sucked dry and I even made a wish with the wishbone. Well, of course, I didn’t invite someone over to grab hold of one edge of the wishbone and make a wish with me, granted-ness of the wish given to the person who broke off the bigger piece. But I made a wish with myself, for myself.

For just one moment, if I blocked out all of the sounds around me, in the back of my head, I could hear grandma’s wooden spoon clanking against the glass container as she made another batch of her fresh brewed Lipton iced tea she makes with Teabags. That iced tea was so cold, that it’d make your body feel like you’re in Antarctica while standing in 88 degree heat in South Carolina.

I could hear her humming a gospel song, as she often does when she’s concentrating on work. I could hear the rattle snakes off the back porch and the dog’s barking in the neighbor’s yard. I could hear my cousin’s arguing over who’s the best wrestler, Hulk Hogan or Rick Flare. I could hear a combination of my Aunt’s air conditioner and soaps; probably ‘Days of Our Lives’ or ‘Young and the Restless.’ I could hear the leather recliner and the hundreds of family pictures in the living room. I could hear. . .home.

When all was said and done, I gathered up 7 separate napkins all covered in greasy finger prints and seasoning and tossed them in the garbage.

And it felt right. For about 15 minutes, I believed that the border between New York and South Carolina touched. I unrolled the cuffs on my shirt and re-buttoned them, put some hand sanitizer on my hands and around my lips and caught a flight right back to Corporate America.

Aren’t memories great?

Dr. John Hope Franklin

Anybody who knows me, knows how important this photograph is to me. The gentleman I have the pleasure of standing next to in this photo is Dr. Brother John Hope Franklin. He is my brother in fraternity (Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc.) and a Dr. by trade (noted historian with over 100 honorary doctorates to date).

This picture was taken at my chapter's 30th anniversary Ball Celebration at Duke University. That would be the "Knock Out" KO Chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. The legacy bonded by this chapter is truly a special one. When I got brothers, I really got brothers. And ever since then, doors have flung wide open for me, just through association alone. I am truly thankful; I am truly blessed.

How We Met (no I'm not married!!)

She looked and smiled ever so slight
My eyes blew up like dynomite
I couldn't believe I was so hype
As her frame passed me by

My opportunity felt like do or die
My heartbeat raced, my pressure rised
My stomach churned, my temperature high
I had to let her know how I felt

With a hitch in my step, I grabbed my belt
My speed was caution, my posture svelte
I tried to speak, I heard a yelp
As my mouth constructed a, "Hello!"

What happened next, you'll never know
And that's just how our story goes
My wife and me will never let go
The particulars on the first day we met!

I Had A Dream, Too

I had a dream. I had a dream I woke up in my Harlem neighborhood. And as I stepped off my front stoop, I noticed something strange. Every black adult was going to work and every black kid was going to school.

Every which way you turned, everyone was dressed to the 9s. Dressed as if there was a purpose involved. No Jerseys. No durags or head scarfs. All the adults were either carrying a briefcase, a book or a notepad to write down ideas. All the children had bookbags. Nice big bookbags with nice sharp creases in them where the textbooks bulged. And everyone looked tired and dutiful. You know, that look us black folks have in the morning when we've worked hard yesterday and have an even harder day of work ahead? Yeah, that look. But we don't mind because its the type of work that let's us know we mean something to somebody. So we're willing to make whatever sacrifice to take care of our own. You know. Like Romans 12.

Every which way I listened, blacks were carrying on conversations about how to better ourselves. Thoughts flowed from brain to brain like beautiful rainbows. I mean you really could see them!!

I began to walk down the street and I noticed something very strange. My feet were not touching the ground. I walked some more to see if it were true. A smile came over my face and I giggled a little. Fancy that, I had become a living, breathing example of frictionless progress. And it was simply amazing to me.

I began to think to myself, this must be a dream. Fancy that. I dreamed I was dreaming. Now don't that seem to be the way of black folks? Always dreaming of what really could be. Always thinking that the possible is out of reach, blocked by the river of effort. And dilligence.

I kept walking through this dream smiling and taking it all in, knowing that at any moment, it could be taken away from me if I was awakened. I found myself hoping that for this one morning only, the cat would not jump on the bed and play with my feet. I found myself hoping that for this one morning only, that loud garbage truck would not come through the block. I found myself hoping that the dysfunctional couple that lived in the apartment next to me, could for this one morning kiss and make up instead of argue and fight loud enough for the whole building to hear. And then the saddest thing in the world happened to me in this dream. When I felt like I ran out of hopes, I wished I was dead. I wished I was dead so that I could not awaken from this dream; this black utopia. . .this opulent feeling that things could get no better. Only worse if I awoke. How sad.

And right there. Right in my very own dream, I began to cry. How could it be that right there in the happiest of places, could I cry? I cried so long and so loud that my stomach and throat began to hurt. How could it be that in a place without friction, I could feel pain? I was confused in my very own dream.

Then like a skyrocket or a shooting star, it hit me. This dream of mine could only be just that; a dream. You see, no matter what my mind wanted, my heart wouldn't let me sustain, what was not real. This can't all be chance. My black people were chosen to struggle. I was chosen to struggle. And I'm not above the lowest of my people. For I am I, and I am them. We are we. And with that, reality settled again.

There was no cat playing with my feet. No garbage truck or argument. There was just me. And I awoke. Some could say in more ways than one. I didn't awake to myself, I awoke to us. And how are we doing today? Some good, some bad, but all black and all in it together.

I left my Harlem apartment with a smile on my face. The dream that had brought me a new sense of life and death, tucked firmly in the crevices of my subconscious. Reality brushing my face like a light wind on the left of me and a bright warm sun on the right of me. I am whole with my black people again. Thank goodness for dreams.

The Nervous Voice Message

I was thinkin’ bout ya, and ahhh, it made me smile, and ahhh
It made me take my mind off work for awhile, and ahhh

I started, smellin’ textures of yourrrr. . . sweet embrace, and ahhh
You should have seen the smile that ran ‘cross my face, and ahhh

I was thinkin’ that, ahhh, me, you, we, should ahhhh
Should start investin’ in ahhhhh. . .family, cuz ahhh

I don’t mind, how ahhhh, you make me feel, wow ahhh
I guess I’m studderin’, cuz this shit is def'nitely real, well ahhh

I guess that’s all that I ahhh, wanted to say, see ahhh
Just ‘splainin’ some stuff, that ahhh, thought 'bout today, so ahhh

Get right back at me, ahhh, soon as you can, yeah ahhh
But now its time to get back to workin’, Mannnn

JayGee Quotable B

I have a taste for something I remember having as a kid. I can't remember exactly what it tastes like. But I remember it being sweet, like hot molasses over a buttermilk biscuit. Like a momma's hug fitting more snuggly over a wound than a band-aid ever could.

Oh wait, I know what it is. It's my innocence.

I Have a Reality. . .

There is something truly awkward, yet sensational to see little black boys and little black girls all bright-eyed and espongeful (I know this isn't a word, but I like it) when it comes to reading and learning.

What's awkward about it? Awkward because all this desire stems from a mind who probably doesn't either know or has begun understanding life through the lens of their blackness. And make no mistake about it, it is a lens like no other.

Awkward because if you add 10 years to that kid's age, chances are reading and learning will become like a personal offense to his accreditation. Almost like, if they become interested in doing it, the consequence is social jail; beatings and rapings of their social agenda by their own kind, forced to march to the beat of a hip hop drum. Wearing doo rags and clothes too big for their too small bodies. And shoes using as little lace as possible to keep them on their feet. Yes, jail would be the perfect way to describe it.

Sensational because it is a glimpse of how strong black people could be if they stuck to their natural tendencies. Most of which involve learning and professoring. Who else you know could have over 200 songs memorized, learn how to play every instrument in a 5 piece band or confront a society not designed for their success?

Sensational, because it gives you chills to know that chances are, someone will enter that child's life and lead them to believe that becoming smart is becoming white. Oh, it pains me so to know that the institutionalization of education, has acted as such a hindrance, a barrier to black social elitism. And not elitism as defined through the capitulations of capitalism. But elitism defined as a race, acting and living with all of its proper cogs in place.

I once wrote that I have a dream. I now write that I have a reality. And its eating me whole like a boa constrictor without an appetite to chew, but rather suffocate its prey. I am prey.

JayGee Quotable A

I like standing on a New York street corner with my toes on the tip of the curb after it rains. If you look deep enough inside a puddle, you can invision yourself looking down into a sea of insanity. Why might one want to do that, you may ask? Because if you make reality out of something metaphysical, obstacles don't appear to be so insurmountable.

Aged To Perfection. . .

I used to tell people that my leg always hurt

Now I tell them that one leg is longer than the other

I used to tell people that I spent all last night in a club listening to loud music

Now I tell them that I'm growing hard of hearing

I used to tell people that I just got back from vacationing in a sunny location

Now I tell em my momma and my daddy made me this complexion

I used to tell people a lot of untruths when I was younger to compensate for what I considered to be my inadequacies

Now, conditioned upon my abnormalities, I tell people I have aged to perfection

My body grows weaker as my mind grows stronger

My mind grows so strong that I can leave pieces of it, entrenched in little kid's minds and grown men's bodies

One day, it will be time to say goodbye to this body that has grown as all things must grow, and will die as all things must die

It is because I have spent my time, tirelessly wearing out this body to get to the next lesson, the next level of understanding, growing my mind stronger than my body ever was, or ever could be, that I, my friends am aging to perfection

A Taste of What's Real

I pulled a lollipop from the rainbow and began to lick its understanding not fully comprehending what is true. That either lollipops are not made of colors from the rainbow, or that rainbows are not real.

As I licked and licked some more, I began to wonder if I were not coming to the conclusion that I, myself, am not real like the rainbow and the lollipop.

A fear came over me, because my conscious slowly began to realize that if the lollipop wasn't real and the rainbow wasn't real and I wasn't real, then the emotions I felt of being a happy man, enjoying the sight of a beautiful rainbow, and sucking on a delicious lollipop were all fake too!

Oh what a discovery to find on that day. I pricked myself against a thorny branch and screamed ouch, but my pain wasn't real because neither were I or the thorn. I jumped and the impact of me landing on the ground buckled my knees. But my knees never really buckled because the ground wasn't real nor was gravity.

Subconsciously, my conscious came back into being and my ability to understand went away. My rote mechanics came back to me and I began sucking on that lollipop again, staring at the rainbow, smiling and being happy. I inadvertently touched my arm against a thorn and said, "ouch," but it didn't hurt long enough to affect my happiness.

Where was I?

Reasoning for Reasons Known

Reason. It is the true pre-nuptial agreement to course of action. It is to come to grips with what you will do, before you do it. If you can reason your course of action, then you have agreed to deal with the consequences of your actions. Simple enough theory, would you agree?

For those patient enough to offer reverence to the strength of reasoning, comes great minds and great deeds. I oft question if I fall into that subsequent. However, I don't always reason for the sake of doing what's right. Sometimes that bothers me, sometimes it doesn't. I feel like I am most bothered when someone has caught on to what I am trying to do. I don't like for people to see, nay, understand the weaknesses within me. Make no mistake about it, reasoning what's wrong for you is a weakness.

I've put a strong aire of importance on one's ability to reason. Reasoning, being the by-product of one's ability to couple thought with a commoning of sense, leaves me with the feeling that a person owns truth and proper judgement. Keep in mind that I said I don't always reason right (as oppose to wrong). I need to surround myself with individuals who can pick up my slack when I'm doing just that. . .slacking. Thus my importance on one's reasonability.

I say all of this to infer that I spend a lot of time reasoning my purpose. It is an action time continuum. For every decision I have reasoned, where I am plus that decision presents a different picture of me. . .a different story of me. Thus, I must begin to reason again with this new picture, where I must go next. I take these actions seriously. Not always. But enough that it defines me.

Sometimes, my friends see me staring off into space and they question what I am thinking about; what thoughts have me so consumed that I lose conscious of present course of action. It is the reasoning of my next course of action that consumes me. I don't ever like to get too caught up in the moment that I don't keep at least my third eye on the future. Strange, huh? I doubt I'm the only one who does this. I seriously do. The main difference might be that I've taken time to put these actions to words.

I like to do that from time to time.

ATL Woodie. . .

I'm on a absolute, natural high tonight. I had a splendidly well weekend in Atlanta and can't stop living off of the mental pictures now permanently etched into my brain's palette.

For starters, I saw a tremendous show, performed by my boy, Kelsy Davis. In my mind, I was not only seeing the performance that he was orchestrating in Atlanta, but the show I plan on putting on for him in New York, as well. His songs, which have become all too familiar to me now, take on a different feel with each new performance I see.

As a second course, was spending time in Kelsy's home with his mother. It is uncanny how similar she is to my own mother. I felt as if she found one solitary crumb left on her dining room table after a meal, I, too, would get in some sort of trouble that only men approaching 30 could get from a mother. Her ingratiating smile made me feel welcomed; welcomed to be myself, welcomed to be in her presence, welcomed to be one of her son's true friends. I ate up every minute of it.

As a third course, I enjoyed smelling fresh cut grass. It is amazing what the smell of nature being groomed does for the aura. In its purest form, it is a representation of life after death. Sprung from the violence of killing off something once alive, comes a breath of new life creating itself. How barbarically cool.

As the final course, and thus the most enjoyable, I fell in love with black crowds again. Now that might sound awkward to some, but over this weekend on several ocassions, I was present during gatherings of black folks. Unlike a couple of my past experiences, everyone behaved. No pushing. No shoving. There were drinks, smokes and wonderfully created music by. . .yep, you guessed it, black folks.

I felt like a W.E.B. DuBois dream. Or like peppermint in a sun-drenched pitcher. I felt like spirits on Easter and like little black boys and little black girls under 6 years old celebrating their birthdays. I felt like the wind blowing through Granny's hammick in South Carolina and like home cooked, newly handpicked vegetables. In a word, I felt fresh.

If I had a glass to raise at 12:00am, I would. I would toast my fine, black people from Atlanta. Thank you for helping me feel connected again!!!